Choice
by oodball167
Summary: A man facing his fate... Warning: Spoilers if you hadn't seen chapter seven or the previous ones.


**A/N: First Spartacus fic. Beta-edited by the amazing Leah Conner. Thank you, Leah!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Spartacus: Blood & Sand. (If I did Ilithya would suffer the most horrible of rapes before dying in the most slow and painful way possible. What can I say, I hate that bitch)**

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The crowd was screaming as he advanced accross the arena. He reached a distance at which a spear could be thrown from the tracians. Or the murderers dressed as tracians. Batiatus was talking. Something about an old roman general. Marcus? Marius? Something like that. Not really important to him. He was lost in his thoughts.

Sura. His beloved Sura. His reason to live.

How could she be dead? How could he keep living without her?

She answered this question, once. Kind of. He hadn't believed her back then. How wrong he had been... He tried to be reunited with her, by all means possible. But it didn't work. Now she was dead. And he was lost. All his efforts had been in vain. Suddenly the bald, fat guy yelled.

"Let the blood be shed!"

One of his opponents took a step away from the rest of the group. He exchanged a look with Batiatus. The truce they made had been acomplished. With a bad end, yes. But the man had honored his word. Now it was his turn. To accept his fate. To be the gladiator that all were expecting. To be Spartacus. Suddenly he remember Sura's words, trying to convince him to accept the gods.

'All you have to do is close your eyes, and leave yourself in their hands.'

So he closed his eyes, raised his arms and face, and stood still. The shouts of the people died down and the silence grew acutely intense. A grunt was heard, and the whistle of a flying spear reaches his ears. He made no move. This was a chance for the gods to speak. The fate, looking like a spear falling from the sky embedded itself into the ground, caressing his cheek on the way. That was it. The gods had spoken. He will be what the fucking gods wanted. One deep breath, and he charged, yelling like a madman. His six enemies advanced. He fought his way through, parrying blows and cutting bare backs. He was in the middle of them. Several blows were throw at him. He avoided them swiftly, but there were too many. He was caught off guard. While he tried to stand his ground a foot caught his stomach, pushing him into the sand. Mentally, he heard Doctore's recriminations. He kept fighting, though, until a hammer cut his breath. He fell to the ground, gasping. From the corner of his eye he saw the descending hammer, ready to crush his head. He barely managed to parry the hit with the gladius. Gathering his strenght he pulled the dull head until it knocked his enemy. He ducked two more blows before he was able to disentangled himself from his enemies. Breathing deeply, he faced the six men. As if in a dream, he recalled his wife's words.

'There is always a reason to live. The gods will show you the proper path.'

A frightening yell left his throat while he charged. A few blows and he had taken the first opponent's weapon and used it to fix him onto the ground by stabbing his knee. The second charged him, spear in hand, but he stole the weapon again and spinning over himself he open a great smile in the other's throat using his gladius. The blood wet his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a third man coming at him. He used the spear in his left hand to stab him in the belly, before spinning over again, cutting the second's neck, freeing the spear and sending a lethal blow to the third's side. When the fourth advanced, he didn't doubt. He changed his handling on the spear and hit the 'tracian' in his mouth, like a cock pushed in a whore's cunt. He sensed a thud on his arm while the steel opened its way through the thick skull of his enemy. The surprised expression on his face was priceless. The crowd roared, excited by his prowess and unlimited lust for blood. The guy with the axes threw one at him, but he avoid it without great difficulty. Without ceasing in movement his opponent charged at him, but he blocked the blow and proceed to stab him twice in the stomach, and to push him away afterwards.

The only "tracian" left was the one wielding the hammer. The tracian advanced, but the blow was predictable, and he ducked it with ease. Before his enemy was able to finish the second blow, he interrupted the movement, hitting the villain in the stomach while stealing the hammer from his weakened grip. With the stolen weapon he hit his enemy behind the knees. The other fell. Taking a breath he embedded the hammer into his opponent's thorax. The blood splattered his arms.

Recovering his gladius he aproached the first one. Between the crowd's aclamations he made his prey face him.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The criminal closed his eyes. Then it happened.

The face watching him wasn't the same face he fought.

It turned into a face from his past. A face he hadn't seen in a very long time.

_His own face._

The blade caressed 'his' jaw.

"No."

'His' face asked for mercy.

He understood. A choice. Remain the Tracian he once was. Become the Gladiator he was set on.

Doubt invaded his mind as he was flooded by images from his past. Then he knew the answer.

_What was the Tracian's reason to live without Sura?_

The Gladiator killed the Tracian.

He let his gladius fall on the sand. He advanced until he stood in front of Batiatus. The multitude was shouting his 'name'. He raised one arm, sealing his pact with Batiatus. He faced the crowd, and with a powerful yell his voice rose over theirs.

"I! AM! SPARTACUS!"

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**Well, any reactions? Thanks for reading and please, review, yes?**


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